


Your Tiny Hand is Frozen

by Gimmeran21



Category: The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: Established Relationship, Injury, M/M, Romanticism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26108266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gimmeran21/pseuds/Gimmeran21
Summary: Doyle wishes Bodie was a bit more romantic.
Relationships: William Bodie/Ray Doyle
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	Your Tiny Hand is Frozen

Bodie was the most unromantic bloke it had been his misfortune to meet. He wasn't even from Yorkshire. Alright he was only half-Irish, on his mother's side but why couldn't he have inherited some of the Celtic mist romanticism of his mother's home country?

He wasn't asking for much, just the occasional "sweetheart," accompanied by feathery kisses on his face. Instead what he got was, "oi, you, bed!" or "fancy some of the other?" accompanied by a suggestive leer and wiggling of the eyebrows or the odd grope that turned into something more.

He wasn't asking to be wooed like a Victorian maiden. He didn't need wooing. After all, Bodie must have done something right. They'd been lovers for, oh, it must be five years now. In fact all Bodie had said at the time had been "how about it then?" and that was it, but...

Take the other day, he'd been listening to "Your Tiny Hand is Frozen," on the verge of tears, manly ones of course, at the sadness of it all, when Bodie had bounced in and switched the stereo off with a decisive click.

"What do you want to listen to that soppy stuff for? Your mitt is cold wasn't it? Now if you want to listen to some real music, why not Colonel Bogey? You're getting soft in your old age. Snap out of it."

Doyle supposed he ought to be grateful that his lover had even recognised the music. So he'd said nothing, just brooded, like a Byronic hero. After all, he had the curls, reddish, not black, but you couldn't have everything. Perhaps if he wrote an ode to Bodie's blue eyes? He shuddered at the reaction he'd get.

So what could he do to get him to at least call a spade a spade and not a bloody shovel? Or in his case, call him "love," once in a while. Oh well, beggars couldn't be choosers, he supposed. He knew Bodie loved him, would take a bullet for him, in fact had done several times. He just wished Bodie would say so.

Then he'd been shot by Mayli. As he lay there in increasing agony, drifting in and out of consciousness, he felt Bodie take his hand and kiss it over and over again and then say, "Don't die my love, my heart. I love you, you can't die, my sweetheart."


End file.
